Certainty
by Impure Paradise
Summary: He makes a show of loudly clearing his throat and breathing in a large intake of air, exhaling, shaking his head softly, slowly, as though he is in a trance. "Kenna, will you marry me?" A chuckle runs through his lips and it is so infectious that Kenna cannot help but release a small giggle as well. "Again?" (Kennash One-shot)


**Certainty**

**(So..this is sort of a sequel to my first ever Kennash one-shot; Poison Ivy; although this can completely stand on its own, so if you haven't read Poison Ivy, you won't have to read that to read this at all. With that said, thank you so much for dropping by to read, and I hope that you enjoy it!)**

**Summary - He makes a show of loudly clearing his throat and breathing in a large intake of air, exhaling, shaking his head softly, slowly, as though he is in a trance. "Kenna, will you marry me?" A chuckle runs through his lips and it is so infectious that Kenna cannot help but release a small giggle as well. "Again?" (Kennash | One-shot)**

**Disclaimer - I do not own the characters or anything involved with the Reign fandom whatsoever.**

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When she draws his lips against her own, anchors their skin together in a kiss so sweet that she feels her heart _race_, strokes his rough cheek in a way that is so featherlight, so evanescent, that her husband feels compelled to pull her further into his anatomy, Kenna wonders if they have enough time to fully appreciate the moment they are so absolutely immersed in - if they have time to hold one another with passion yet grace, to tear their clothes off of one another's bodies until they are merely shredded garments strewn across the wooden flooring of their bedchambers and fall into their bed, wrapped up in each other's embrace like a fervid tourniquet - but she soon realises that they cannot allow themselves to take things further, because they have already wasted more time than intended, because the clock is ticking, although they cannot _hear_ it, but they _know_, know full well that they have to leave for their friend's wedding soon.

"Bash," She whispers softly against his smile in an attempt to halt their kiss - she isn't sure when the kiss started, she can't remember, all she knows is that it has to _end_ - and she lets go of his neck, forces herself to tear from his cordial embrace even though she doesn't necessarily _want_ to. Because she_ has_ to. "We will be late."

"I'm sure that Greer will understand." Sebastian replies in his guttural voice, a voice that isn't quite clear because he's not focused on the words that he is saying, he is more focused on woving his fingers through Kenna's hair - hair that is so soft he thinks it might have been made with silk - thinks that the stars in the sky shine specifically for her hair because of how lustrous it is - and he disregards her excuse, glosses over it as though it had never been said, because he is unwilling to part from her lips just yet - her lips as his Heaven; thin and painted and warm and _his_. All his.

Kenna tears his hands from the lace of her floor-length gown, takes a small step backwards, until she has almost hit the wall that looms behind her. The sounds of her leather shoes scraping against the wooden floor fills their ears like the screech of an animal in the wild, and it pulls Sebastian out of his formerly spellbinded state. Kenna raises her arms high, presses her palms onto his linen shirt to keep him at an arm's length distance from herself. "Bash," She speaks his name with ease, because she is so used to calling it, so much so that his moniker rolls off of her tongue like a melody that lingers. "You are _such_ a distraction."

His grin, full of faultless white teeth and presented with a pair of dimples, is positively dripping with charm, and something that might be _magnetism_, and Kenna fears that she will fall victim to it as she always does. "I do not see why you are so averse to us being just a little late," His left hand sheathes her right, still firmly placed against his imposing chest, and his fingers caress the ring that she is wearing - the ring she has worn since not long after their wedding - and the silver stings his fingertips because it's so _cold_, and the gesture causes Kenna's scrutiny to drop towards it, causes her to be transfixed on it while her husband continues to speak his justifications. "It's just a wedding, after all."

The comment creates a solidity to swim in the brunette's eyes. Sharply, promptly, she meets his gaze, and her head shakes, back and forth, her once made-up hair flailing wildly over each of her shoulders. "No, it is _not_ 'just a wedding', Sebastian," She argues, and her husband - her sweet, _sweet_ husband - knows not to halt her words because she has used his full forename as opposed to the abbreviated nickname that his peers deem him, and that means that she is not _pleased_, that means that if he interrupts her, she will not be_ happy_ with him. "Greer is one of my closest friends," Her hands slip from his broad chest, and as her arms lay by her sides, her fingertips twitch, missing the linen of his dress-shirt all too much. "I will not arrive late to the only wedding she will ever have. I will not!"

"Breathe, Kenna. Breathe." He reaches out, extends his arms, and places his hands on either of his wife's cheeks, caressing every so softly as to make her feel at ease, and he watches as she takes a pair of calming breaths that touch the skin of his face due to their close proximity and sends shock waves dancing up and down his spine. "Kenna," He whispers her name once more, in a tone that is nothing short of a susurrate, and his eyes are darting between hers, hoping to find something of an explanation for his wife's erratic behaviour. "Will you please tell me why you are so.._anxious_ about this wedding?"

She had always been an erratic young woman - her personality was as big as Sebastian's half-brother's ego - but she had been much worse, ever since Greer's announcement that she had agreed to wed the wealthy and kind, Aloysius Castleroy. Kenna's friends - Queen Mary Stewart and her fellow ladies in waiting - hadn't taken much notice of her change in conduct, but Sebastian was not so blind to his wife's ways anymore. He had distinguished the signs of her discomfort instantly - because he was her husband and he knew her better than any other who resided in the French court.

"I am _not_ anxious." Her tone spills with adamance, although there is a certain lilt that tells otherwise, and Sebastian can see right through her defenses. He knows her well enough to recognise when she is not speaking truth. Furthermore, his gut instinct was driving him to believe that Kenna's neurotic, compulsive behaviour was predicated on a personal reaction to Greer's engagement to Aloysius, and he always trusted his gut.

Sebastian studies her almond-shaped eyes, defiant and as headstrong as always, and he runs his tongue across his lower lip as he attempts to find words that might cause her to admit to something - admit to his suspicions. "You spend most of your nights talking about it. You spend most of your mornings assisting Greer with the arrangements."

Kenna takes a sudden interest in the ink-coloured, leather slippers on her feet as her face tips downwards and a lump catches in her throat - because he _knows_, and she knows that he knows and that's not _good_. "I just..I want Greer's wedding to be beautiful, and true, and perfect. A wedding that is worth remembering for the rest of her life."

At that, his lips slip until his face is damaged by a downhearted frown because his wife's hurt is _his_ hurt and he feels it all through his body, feels the painful memories of their own wedding like the tip of an arrow piercing his heart. He moves his hand towards her chin and lifts her face back up so that he can look into her coffee brown eyes. "This is about more than Greer and Lord Castleroy's wedding."

It isn't a question, because he doesn't have to ask her, it is fairly obvious to him by now. Kenna's dedication to a wedding that is not hers is not normal, and it hadn't taken Sebastian long to put the pieces together. Their wedding had not been beautiful, it had not been true or at all perfect. It had not been a night worth remembering for the rest of their lives. Kenna had tried to pretend as though that didn't bother her, but her husband was not ignorant to her emotions, and he never had been.

"What does it matter?" She mumbles in an undertone that is so quiet, and so woeful, that she is adamant in the notion that Sebastian hasn't heard a word of what she had said. And she is responded, not with words, but with movement, as in a flash, Sebastian's hands slip away from her sculptured cheek-bones and he plummets towards the floor that sits beneath them, creaking a pained little sound with every move their feet made, and Kenna watches, dumbfounded, as her husband stands on one knee at her feet as though she is a Queen - _his_ Queen. "Bash," She whispers his name in surprise, downcasting her eyes to reach his now nealing position, and her head tilts, ever so slightly, to the side. "What is this?"

His head is tipped back as he stares up at her, emotions running clear thought his scintillating blue eyes; affection and devotion and love and something else, something _sweet_; and his lips twitch into a smile, wide, and so seraphic that even angels would sin to lay their eyes upon it. "We should marry."

"We _are_ married, you fool." She is perplexed by his request, but still allows small bouts of her laughter to echo throughout their bedchambers - because she is amused, because amusement in her default setting, since she doesn't quite _understand_ what is going on.

"Properly, we should marry properly," He clarifies for her, and his tone harbours confidence, because he's confident that this is a _good_ idea, that this is romantic and just what they both need. He reaches up to envelop her hands in his own, and as he does, Kenna is still watching him from behind winged eyelashes, her visage masked with surprise, because Sebastian was never one for bold, romantic gestures, and she wasn't sure if he was being serious or just being _Bash_.

"It is rare, but there are times in which people marry for love. We were not in love when we wed and I don't want that to upset you any longer," Sebastian continues. He interlaces his fingers between hers, and he holds them against his chest, in a way that exhibits how _precious_ she is to him, how much he _means_ this, because he _does_ mean it, he wants to marry her again. He wants this day to be _her_ wedding day, a wedding that she can recall with fondness as opposed to hurt. "We should marry, now, now that we are undoubtedly in love with one another."

Her lips pry apart, as if to say something -_anything_- only she isn't sure _what_ to say. She thinks about her wedding day sometimes - thinks about the tears that had leaked from her eyes, streamed down her cheeks, like a waterfall of all of the words she wished she had been able to say, all of the protests that burned on the tip of her tongue - she thought about Sebastian's lower lip and how it seemed to just..tremble, and quiver, ever so slightly, but not imperceptibly, when Mary caught his eye from the door, because this was when he still felt something for the Queen - she thought about the promises that spewed from both of their lips while their eyes fell upon the point of King Henry's sword that was pointed straight at their faces, threatening them with violence, taunting them with death - and she thought about how devastating, how tragic, it had been to swear before King and before _God_ that they would remain united for the remainder of their lives (and they were _so young_, too).

Their wedding had been such an awful occurrence. It had been one of the worst days of Kenna's eventful existence, until it became a blessing, until she accepted it because she fell for Sebastian, quickly, but deeply, passionately, in love with her husband, and he had fallen for her in return. Still, she doesn't like to think about that day. She doesn't like to speak of it. But now that she _was_ thinking of it, now that she was pondering it, a renewal of their union sounded like nothing short of Heaven to her. A renewal would fill the void in their marriage.

Kenna swallows down any hesitance she might have been feeling, and she returns Sebastian's smile, all the while tearing her hands from his soft grip. "I am most definitely not dressed for a wedding of my own." She says, followed by a gesture as she waves her palm before her stomach, hinting towards the teal-coloured, lace overlay gown that she had chosen to wear to Greer and Lord Castleroy's wedding.

"Your gown is of no importance," He insists, his grin only growing more spacious at his wife's antics. He makes a show of loudly clearing his throat and breathing in a large intake of air, exhaling, shaking his head softly, slowly, as though he is in a trance. "Kenna, will you marry me?" A chuckle runs through his lips and it is so infectious that Kenna cannot help but release a small giggle as well. "Again?"

She stares into his eyes, deeply, eyes so blue and _hypnotic_, the eyes that she can always trust to find herself absolutely lost in, and a laugh, free and uninhibited, spills from her lips like a symphony of just how charmed and rapturous she feels. "Nothing would make me happier, Bash."

As he rises back to a standing position before her, Sebastian steals her hands back into his, and her fingers fit flawlessly between his (a perfect fit). "I'm afraid that we don't have enough time to write vows."

Kenna's teeth rest on her lower lip as they graze the skin, and she shakes her head, softly. "It's no matter. Just say how you feel."

"Alright," He takes another breath - tries to come off as nonchalant and like _he can do this_, but inside, he's struggling against his words. He knows that he loves her, with every beat inside of his chest, he soaks in her scent every day as though it's his air supply and he _needs_ it to continue _breathing_, and he _worships_ her, and he never tires of telling her how he feels about her, but in this very moment, he can't seem to find the right words to express how much she truly means to him. He wants it to be _right_, for her, for himself, but he doesn't know if he can get it _right_, and there's nerves spreading through his veins like an incurable disease, but he closes his eyes, and he nods to himself, and he decides to forgets about making it perfect, to just let the words flow, naturally.

"Kenna," Sebastian begins in a voice so unsteady that it shakes between them, makes his wife smile because he is so precious and so sweet when he's nervous. "It is no surprise that I have spent my life as the epitome of second best. I was a bastard from the moment I was given life, and I cannot change that, I will never be able to. And I have always wished to be more than that, to somebody, to anybody, really. I was sick of being second best, to France, to Mary," He pauses his vows at the mention of his former infatuation's forename, and his eyes rake over Kenna's face, over her rheumy eyes and her firm, compressed lips, and he takes notice of something; she hadn't even flinched.

She had long come to terms with the fact that her husband had once wished to marry her Queen and close friend, and although it sometimes made her feel uncomfortable, she reassured him, every time that the situation called for it, that it was in the past, and she would never hold resent over his past.

(because she is a kind, understanding, _good_ wife, and she will always strive to be _good_)

After once more clearing the scratch imprisoned inside of his throat, Sebastian continued. "Over the year that you and I have spent as husband and wife, you have made me feel appreciated, you have made me feel loved, and I never doubt my place in your life. I never believe that I am second best to you." His fingers fight to lace further with hers, and he wishes to find words that are good enough to make his wife smile, to make her happy, because that is all he has wanted for the longest time now. "You give me something that no one else on this earth has ever been able to. You give me light on my darkest nights, and certainty that I can live a long, happy life, and I feel needed when I am around you. I want to protect you from any darkness, I want to take care of you for the rest of our lives, however long that may be. I want a _life_ with you. And I want to be your husband. Always."

Kenna inhales a breath, a sharp, long breath, as small drops of tears spill from her eyes and streak down her cheek-bones, and she closes her eyes over, absorbing his words, letting them imprint into her memory because they are words that she never wants to _forget_. "Oh," She laughs and slides her eyes back open, and she swears that Sebastian might be tearing up as well, but she chooses not to comment on it. "Gosh, alright," She waves her hands before her face as if she is cooling off after a long, hot journey.

"Sebastian," His name escapes on an exhale of breath as Kenna takes his hands once more, curls her fingers into his, anchoring them together. She tries to halt the saccharine laughter slipping through her lips, but it's almost an impossibility, because amusement is and always has been her default setting for when she is anxious or confused, and right now, she is so beyond the point of anxiousness. "My _sweet_ husband,"

She finally stops laughing, and her visage is serious as she swallows down her nerves - and she wonders why she is so nervous. This is not their first wedding, after all. Yet he makes her nervous; every moment, of every day they share together, he makes her nervous, the good, butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of nervous.

"There was a time, long ago, in which I believed, truly believed, that I might never find someone worthy as to call him my husband. I was born alone and I was _not_ afraid to die alone. What I _was_ afraid of, what I have _always_ been afraid of, is a life without passion. A life of disappointment and hurt. And when your father forced us to wed, I was afraid that I would get exactly that. And I feared that I would never be the same again. However," She moves a hand to his to rest against his cheek, and slowly she grazes her fingertips over his rough skin that was adorned with rich, dark stubble. "I sorely misjudged you, Sebastian, because you are my passion, and you are my certainty that I will never be alone as long as you are here, with me, in _our_ home. You are my loving husband and for that, I am grateful. Truly."

Her intermittent heart pounds against the cage of her chest and she isn't sure if she will be able to calm it, and there's something sweet, something euphoric, swimming through her veins, making her smiles brighter, making her knees weak underneath her, and her heart only grows more sporadic as Sebastian draws her gracile body into his and plants his lips onto hers, cementing them with so much adoration, as though he had been waiting to kiss her for the entire time she had been speaking her honest words to him.

Their lips slowly move together as their hands loiter in one another's hair, Kenna's fingers woving into his short, mahogany strands, Sebastian's caressing her waterfall of hazel brown, naturally wavy locks. Kenna smiles against his lips, a smile that drips with bliss, as her hands move downwards to rest on his taut chest, and she feels his heart beat against her splayed fingertips, and she feels overwhelmed by how fast she can make his heart _race_.

"Kenna," Sebastian begins to speak against her lips, only to be paused as Kenna brings their mouths closer together, moves further into his towering body, and his breath hitches in his throat, tries to let more words escape, but he is addicted to her kiss and she is not making it easy for him to speak. Still, he tries, because he _doesn't_ give up. "We should- Kenna-" He forces his lips to part from hers, and he looks into her eyes - so brown and dizzied and hypnotised by his psychedelic kisses. "We should go, Kenna." He tells her between stolen breaths. "We will be late to Greer and Lord Castleroy's wedding if we don't head downstairs."

Slanting her head partly to the right side, and shaking it, she smiles, and her smile is beautiful, making his heart race in its incessant throbbing for just a split second. "I am sure they will not mind if we are just a little late." She returns her hands to each side of his face, feelings his stubble against her skin, soaks and drowns in his familiar scent of the forest and spiced wine. "I would like a moment alone with my _husband_."

Sebastian's lips tear at a grin as he nods into her palms. "Then that is what you shall have, my wife."

(and she_ smiles_, because there was once a time in which she believed she would never hear those words spill from his mouth -_my wife_- and feared that he would never truly accept them, but he did, he was her loyal, _loving_ husband, and she was his _kind_, understanding wife, and they were _blessed_, for the rest of their days.)

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**- This is actually the first time that I have ever written anything in present tense (I always write in past tense) so if there are any mistakes regarding this, please let me know so that I can fix it? :) -**

**Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope that you enjoyed it!**

**Review, please?**


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